O'Reilly smiled at her and extended his hand. "She's far too good for the likes of you, Laverty. How do you do, Miss Spence?"
She took his hand. "I'm very well, thanks."
"Good," said O'Reilly, waving his free hand in a circle.
"And what do you think of the party?"
"Very nice," she said.
"I'll tell you," said O'Reilly, lowering half of his pint in one swallow, "parties are like those rockets the Americans and Russians fire into space. Once they leave the launching pad they either soar for a few moments, then wobble and blow up, or with ever-increasing speed they roar off into the ionosphere, out into space, and head for the stars."
"I think that's called escape velocity," Barry offered.
"It is," said Patricia. "A rocket has to achieve a critical rate of speed to overcome the gravitational pull of the earth."
"Patricia's an engineer," Barry explained.
"Is that a fact?" O'Reilly remarked. "Good for you. Escape velocity? Well, the last time I saw Seamus Galvin he was definitely flying, but poor old Mr. Coffin's succumbed to earth's pull. He's asleep in the vegetable patch."
"I thought he was a Pioneer," Barry said.
"He is, but I've a notion that Constable Mulligan has been spicing Coffin's tea up a bit."
"It was only the men from Crossmaglen that put whiskey in my tea?" Barry enquired, in the words of an Ulster song.
"Probably vodka," O'Reilly said. "He'd be less likely to taste that. Anyway. It's cheered him up, and the rest of the assorted multitude seem to be having a grand old time. Just look at them." Barry surveyed the scene.
Seamus Galvin swayed gently in time with the music. He and a couple more Ballybucklebo Highlanders were piping for sets of dancers. Not a man among them wore a jacket or a tie. The fiddler and his small ensemble stood closer to the house providing the backup for half a dozen men who, arms round each other's shoulders, were well on their way into what Barry vaguely recognized as one of the later verses of "The Rocky Road to Dublin." Doreen stood close by, belting away with her spoon on Hughey's tin tray. Barry heard her yell, "Do you want another pint?" And Hughey's reply, "What the hell are you going on about, woman? I want another pint."
Sonny and Maggie were back in their deck chairs under the apple tree.
"Begod," said O'Reilly, nodding toward them, "the pair of them are like Adam and Eve in the Garden."
"All we need is the serpent," Barry said.
"I didn't invite Councillor Bishop and he's the only snake St. Paddy didn't drive out of our wee country," O'Reilly remarked, looking wistfully at his now empty glass. "Now, Barry," he said, "before the worthy Seamus drinks himself utterly beyond redemption, I think it's time we got any formalities over and done with."
"What formalities?"
"It's the Galvins' going-to-America party. Someone should say a few words."
"Right," said Barry, glancing to the tarpaulin-covered heap at the end of the garden and remembering that Willy had said it was a surprise gift for O'Reilly. "What do you want me to do?"
"Get hold of that friend of yours, Mills. Between the pair of you, take one of the smaller tables from the tent and cart it up to the house end of the garden." He eyed Barry's glass. "And give that to me. You'll be too busy to drink it."
"Right," said Barry, handing over his drink and looking around for Jack Mills.
"Now, Miss Spence . . ."
"It's Patricia."
"Patricia . . . come with me," said O'Reilly. "I want you to meet Arthur Guinness. Then I'll find you a chair."
Barry found Jack, who apologized profusely for having misplaced Barry's earlier drink. From the flush on his friend's cheeks Barry reckoned he had a fair idea where the pint had gone. He explained to Jack what was required, pried him away from the blonde, and did his best to carry out O'Reilly's instructions. They lugged one of the smaller tables to the end of the garden to make an improvised dais in front of the rows of chairs. O'Reilly appeared, holding Kinky by the arm and would hear none of her protestations. "There you are, Kinky Kincaid," he said, "and there you'll stay." Jack's blonde and Patricia had deck chairs of honour beside Maureen in a chair and Barry Fingal Galvin in his pram. Jeannie Kennedy and the want-to-be-weds, Susan MacAfee and Colin Brown, found spots on the grass.
"Would the Ballybucklebo Men's Choral Society care to join us?" O'Reilly roared. The fiddling and whistling stopped, and the singers drifted across the lawn. "Nip over and bring Seamus, will you, Barry?"
Barry skirted the apparently tireless dancers. "Seamus." He tugged at Seamus's sleeve. "Seamus."
Seamus stopped his pipes and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Doctor O'Reilly would like everybody to gather round up there."
"Right, sir." Seamus giggled. "I'll see to it."
From the corner of his eye Barry caught a glimpse of Lady Macbeth sidling into the now empty marquee; then he made his way to where the entire congregation stood rank upon rank, waiting expectantly for the next part of the proceedings. Now that the piping had stopped, all that could be heard was a gentle murmur of conversation, the clattering of a spoon on a tin tray, and a woman's voice shouting, "The doctor's going to say a few words." To which came the audible reply, "I don't give a bugger what the out' fart's going to say, I want another pint."
Barry jostled through the throng and stood behind Patricia's chair. He put a hand on her shoulder and she turned and smiled up at him. "Here," said Jack from behind the blonde's chair. "Look what I found." He handed Barry a pint of stout.
"Thanks, mate." Barry took the glass and watched as O'Reilly hoisted his bulk onto the unsteady table. He spread his arms to his sides, hands cocked up, fingers splayed. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to bid farewell to three of Ballybucklebo's more illustrious citizens. Seamus and Maureen and wee Barry Fingal are off to start a new life in the New World."
"Will Seamus be working?" a voice enquired from the depths of the crowd.
"I will, so I will," Seamus yelled back.
"Mother of God," said the voice, "miracles still do happen."
"Now," said O'Reilly, "you all know I'm a man of few words--"
"And the Pope's a Presbyterian," a man called.
"Watch it, Colin McCartney," O'Reilly said. "I have my eye on you."
"How many of him do you see, Doctor sir?" someone else asked. Barry laughed long and hard with the rest of the crowd, but stole a look at O'Reilly's nose. Florid as ever. The big man was taking the ribbing in good part.
When the hubbub died down, O'Reilly continued. "All right, fair play. But all I want to say today is every one of you that has a glass to lift, hoist it with me and wish the Galvins a safe journey and a grand new life." He held his own glass aloft. "To the Galvins."
"The Galvins" echoed back from the crowd.
"May God bless them and all who sail in them," Fergus O'Malley roared and sat down with a heavy bump.
"Jesus," said O'Reilly. "There's one at every hooley that wants to be the centre of attraction. If this was a wake, Fergus wouldn't be happy unless he was the corpse."
"Corpse? Where?" asked a clearly befuddled Mr. Coffin, just awakened from his slumbers.
"Never mind," said Constable Mulligan, taking the undertaker's arm. "Just sit you down there on the grass like a good gentleman."
"Come on, Seamus. Speech!" Donal Donnelly shouted. "Speech! Speech!"
O'Reilly beckoned to Seamus. "Up here, boyo, and give us a few words of wisdom." O'Reilly leapt from the table.
"Right." Seamus had to be helped to climb up. He swayed, and Barry immediately thought back to the afternoon in the Mucky Duck following the birth of the Galvins' baby. "Said it before . . . an' I'll say it again. Best couple of doctors in Ireland. Best village in Ireland. Best country in the whole world." Seamus's voice cracked.
"Whoops," said O'Reilly, who had moved beside Barry. "Next thing he'll say is . . ."
"I don't want to go to America," Seamus said, a tear dripping from o
ne eye. "Don't want to go at all. Leave all my friends. . . ."
"Told you," said O'Reilly.
"We're going. The week after next," Maureen announced. "Doctor O'Reilly's holding the cash, and the tickets are ordered. Me and Barry Fingal's going anyhow."
"And I'm coming with you, love," Seamus announced, blowing her a sloppy kiss.
"You've a job to do right now, Seamus Galvin," Maureen said, handing her husband a parcel.
"Right. Right. Nearly forgot." Seamus held the parcel over his head. "This here's for Doctor Laverty." The crowd applauded. "You'se folks is very lucky he came to work with Doctor O'Reilly."
"Hear, hear!" yelled Cissie Sloan.
Barry knew he was grinning fit to bust.
"Go and get your present," Patricia whispered. Barry, glass in hand, walked to the table.
"Here you are, Doc." Seamus bent forward and handed Barry the gift.
"Open it," said Seamus.
Barry ripped off the paper. Inside was a burnished aluminium box. When he opened the lid he could see it was full of beautiful, hand-tied flies. He knew he should say something, but a lump was in his throat. He nodded and turned away. He felt he was being ungracious, but didn't trust himself to speak.
He took a deep breath before facing the crowd and saying, "Thank you, Seamus and Maureen. Thank you all." He struggled to find something more appropriate to say, but his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, deep bark and a screech that sounded as if there were a banshees' convention in O'Reilly's back garden.
Lady Macbeth tore past, made a beeline for the chestnut tree, and went up the trunk in a white blur. Hot on her heels, Arthur Guinness galloped past, bashing into Barry's legs and knocking him arse over teakettle. He felt the dampness of his spilled drink soaking into his pants. It wouldn't be Ballybucklebo, he thought, if that bloody dog weren't making a mess of my trousers. He felt O'Reilly pulling on one arm. "Up with you, m'son." Barry struggled to his feet.
"Do you know," said O'Reilly, "I thought she'd go too far one day. Stupid cat tried to claw his nose, and I reckon the Smithwick's gave him a bit of Dutch courage."
Seemingly unaware of the mayhem all around him, Seamus said, "One more thing. This here's a token of our undying esteem for Doctor O'Reilly." He jumped from the table and stood by the canvas-covered object. "I'd like for himself to open it."
"Go on, Fingal," Barry said. "Your turn."
As O'Reilly strode across the grass, Barry returned to stand by Patricia. She was laughing as she stared at his sodden pants. "I think that's what I find most interesting about you, Barry."
"What?"
"Your trousers. I've only ever seen you once in a clean pair." Barry, feeling as confident as the cat-chasing Arthur Guinness, and for the same reason, laughed. But then he looked Patricia in the eyes and said, "And I'm the one who wears the trousers."
"We'll see about that," she said, but still smiled. She stood and kissed him. "Could you by any chance get away tonight? I'll cook you dinner."
He looked into her smile and saw the promise there. "Come hell or high water," he said. "And I'll wear a clean pair of pants."
"Can we come too?" Jack Mills asked.
"Not on your life," said Barry, laughing. He saw Arthur Guinness staring up into the branches of the chestnut. He watched Kinky try to shoo the dog away and heard her calling, "Come on down now, you wee dote."
He heard Seamus say, "It's like one of those unveiling jobs that the queen does. You've to pull this rope here."
"This one?" O'Reilly asked, holding a piece of frayed hemp. "The very fellah," said Seamus. "Now, on the count of three, Doctor. One . . ."
"Two," Barry roared in unison with everyone else. "Three." O'Reilly tugged. The tarpaulin slithered to the ground, and there, revealed in all its garish splendour--three feet tall by three feet long, green head and yellow beak bright in the afternoon sunlight, brown saddle painted on its beige back--was a rocking duck. "Holy Mother of God," said O'Reilly, as gasps of pure amazement rose all around. "It's a thing of beauty, Seamus."
"Give her a try," Seamus said, grabbing O'Reilly by the arm. "You sit on here."
O'Reilly straddled the rocking duck.
"Ride 'im, cowboy."
O'Reilly lowered himself, hesitated, and said, "I think I'd be a bit heavy for it." He dismounted, crossed the grass, lifted up Jeannie, and sat her in the saddle. She started to rock back and forth, laughing and fending off a line of children who were noisily demanding their turns.
"See," said a beaming Seamus, "I told you they'd go down a treat with the kiddies."
"You might just be right," said a thoughtful O'Reilly. "Whoever bought them'll make a fortune," Seamus added. Barry had no difficulty understanding why there was a hint of pallor in O'Reilly's nose. Barry wondered if his timing might be poor, but he left Patricia and walked up to O'Reilly. "Fingal?"
"What?"
"I don't suppose I--"
"Could have the night off?" O'Reilly stared hard at Patricia. "That's right."
"Buy me a pint and I'll say yes."
"You're on." Barry started to head for the tent before the queue grew too long. He felt O'Reilly's hand on his arm and turned back. "Take tomorrow off too. I can manage without you. Although I'd like you to stay here for the long haul... as an assistant. . . partner in a year."
Barry hung his head, looked back into the big man's brown eyes, and said, "I'd need to think about it, Fingal. I really would. But you know I might just do that."
"You think about it," said O'Reilly, "but for the love of Jesus, get me a pint like a good lad . . . and a Smithwick's for Arthur."
"I'll be back in a tick," Barry said to Patricia. Then he turned to make his way to the makeshift bar.
He waited his turn in the queue, knowing that although he was becoming accepted by most of the villagers, he hadn't yet attained O'Reilly's commanding presence or earned the right to go to the head of the line. Ah, well, he thought, they also serve who only stand and wait.
He glanced over to where Patricia was deep in conversation with O'Reilly. Sunlight dappled her hair, and her eyes were bright. She must have noticed him staring because she waved to him and smiled. He waved back. Right, he told himself, he'd get the drinks for O'Reilly and his daft dog; then he'd make his excuses and leave. With Patricia.
"Ahem?"
Barry turned.
Donal Donnelly stood there. "Ahem? Doc, I know you must have been thinking of something important. . . but the queue's moved a bit."
"What?"
"I think we could maybe get a wee bit closer to the bar."
"Right." Barry shuffled ahead. Something important? Nothing was more important to him at the moment than Patricia.
"So, sir," remarked Donal, "I was just thinking about that day you asked me for directions to Ballybucklebo. Do you remember?"
"Yes, I do." Indeed he remembered--the yellow gorse, the drooping fuchsia, the blackbird's song, the instructions not to turn at the black-and-white cow, how anxious he'd been about his interview with Doctor O'Reilly, and how Donal had fled at the mere mention of the man's name. He'd not understood why Donal had pedalled away back then, but by God, he did now. Donal nodded his head to indicate that the queue had moved on again. Barry took several paces forward.
Donal tilted his head to one side and said, "Can I ask you a wee question, sir?"
"Fire away."
"You've been here a fair while now. How do you like Ballybucklebo . . . and working for himself?"
"I like it fine," Barry said, without a moment's hesitation. He thought about the little, quiet village with its maypole, pub, and thatched cottages on the shores of Belfast Lough, and of course its inhabitants: Kinky, Donal, Julie MacAteer, Jeannie Kennedy, the Galvins, Maggie, and Sonny.
Barry was distracted by O'Reilly's laughter roaring through the softness of the Ulster summer evening. Doctor Fingal Flahertie O'Reilly, odd as two left feet, but Barry knew that if he himself were ever ill there was no one he'd rather have to look
after him. He smiled at O'Reilly and Patricia, and murmured to himself, "I don't think 'like' is the right word. I love it here." And Doctor Barry Laverty knew it was the truth.
Glossary
The Ulster dialect, properly called Ulster-Scots, is rich and colourful but can be confusing. In my mind I hear the expressions used by my characters as clearly as if I were living back in the north of Ireland; I was, after all, immersed in the northern speech patterns for thirty years. For those unfamiliar with the idiom, however, I have appended this short glossary.
acting the goat:Behaving foolishly.
apples and pears:Cockney rhyming slang for stairs.
argy-bargy:Voluble disagreement.
arse:Backside (impolite).
away off and chase yourself:Go away.
away off and feel your head:You're being stupid.
away on:I don't believe you.
banshee:Female spirit whose moaning foretells death.
barmbrack:Speckled bread (see Mrs. Kincaid's recipes, page 340).
bashtoon:Bastard.
beagle's gowl:Very long way; the distance over which the cry of a beagle can be heard.
bigger fish to fry:More important matters to attend to.
bit my head off:Expressed anger by shouting or being very curt.
bloater:Salted and smoked herring.
blow you out:Tell you to go away.
bodhrán:Irish. Pronounced "bowron." A circular handheld drum.
boke:Vomit.
bollocks:Testicles (impolite). May be used as an expression of vehement disagreement or to describe a person you disapprove offor example, "He's a right bollocks."
bonnet:Hood of a car.
both legs the same length:Standing about uselessly.
bowsey:Dublin slang, drunkard.
boys-a-boys, boys-a-dear:Expressions of amazement.
brass neck:Impertinence,chutzpah.
bravely:Feeling well.
buck eejit:Imbecile.
bun in the oven:Pregnant (impolite).
caubeen:Traditional Irish bonnet.
ceili:Irish. Pronounced "kaylee." Party, usually with music and dancing.
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